


Baby, Don't Cry. Baby, I'll Sing You a Lullaby

by blackeyedqueen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, No Sex, Pet Names, sry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:12:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedqueen/pseuds/blackeyedqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's little brother is too old for Dean to be using such affectionate names. But sometimes Dean needs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, Don't Cry. Baby, I'll Sing You a Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Iggy Pop song "Baby"
> 
> This little diddy came into existence because Justine and I would cry about Dean and Sam using pet names. Enjoy!

It all just used to roll off of Dean's tongue with such ease.

He would run his hand over Sammy's forehead during the little one's restless dreams and say, "don't worry, baby, you're okay."

He would walk in the door after school to see his little brother in a height-chair, where he would greet him with a smile and a "hello, baby" and ruffle his hair. 

Every time Sammy would fall and scrape a knee, Dean was there to say, "hey, honey, don't cry," and dry the tears with the pads of his thumbs.

These words came effortlessly, the "babes" and "babies" and "honeys" and "sweeties". Dean doesn't think he ever would've stopped had it not been for John telling him Sam was getting too old for such names. Even Sam himself (at the right-bold age of six) would insist that, "I'm not a baby, Dean."

They were right, and it may have made Dean just a little sad. 

Dean made the switch to "kiddo", though he almost hated it. It just wasn't affectionate enough. It was just fine for a greeting; seeing each other in school or walking in the door, "hey, kiddo" was just fine. But when Dean had to sit there through whatever would hurt or ail his brother, biting his tongue so hard not to let a "sweetie" slip out, it almost angered Dean that he had to settle for "kiddo" or "buddy" or just "Sammy". The kids in pain and Dean's on edge, can't he just have a little moment for Sam to know how much he means to his older brother, something that a "buddy" or "kiddo" doesn't even touch?

But Dean was good. He kept it in check. He would hardly ever let it slip. Hardly.

***

Sam is sixteen when he starts hunting. The kid is such a natural at it that Dean is not only impressed but worried.

He's got the stealth down to the point where Dean wonders just how sneaky he actually is, and he's good enough at sparring and shooting that Dean makes a mental note not to get on the kid's bad side. Sam is still a bit skinny, but growing like a weed and Dean is sure that soon enough he'll pack on the muscle to fill out his height. Sam is literally no where near a baby anymore, hardly even a kid, and if you don't think Dean gets choked up about it at least every three months when he's noticed his little brother's added another inch to his height, then you're wrong. 

So at sixteen, Sam is ready to start hunting. And Dean gets antsy every single time. Having spent his life protecting Sam, it seems like a sin to put him out in the direct path of danger like this but John is right; he's old enough, good enough, and can be a tremendous help. 

Several hunts go off without a hitch. And then there's one that doesn't. 

The guys are hunting a black dog, a big scary fucker that actually turns out to be two, and ain't that a bitch? Someone's great idea is to split up (whether it was Sam or John, Dean can't remember, but he knows it sure as hell wasn't him). Dean is creeping through a forest, trying not to break too many branches or crunch too many leaves when he hears the worst sound he could ever hear in the distance. A scream.

Oh no, not just any scream. A scream of agony. A scream of Sam’s. Yes, he hears his baby brother screaming and a dog snarling and shots being fired. The next thing Dean knows he's running and, silence be damned, calling his brother's name. 

He follows the sound of the moaning and harsh gasps and occasional yells until he sees Sam lying there with the big black dog over him, dead, thankfully. Dean hones all the strength he has to roll the fucker away so he can get a good look at Sam. 

He's definitely bleeding and definitely pale and definitely shaking and shit It's so not good. And Sam is crying, his little brother is crying these hard sobs and whimpering at Dean's hands checking the wounds and it takes Dean a moment to realize he's talking. 

"Shh, shh baby, you're gonna be alright.” He runs a hand through Sam’s hair. “I promise we're gonna clean you up, honey, you're gonna be fine. Easy kiddo, I know but you're alright."

The words tumble out of him like nothing, and it feels so good to just talk to Sam like this. To let him know he's there and to let him know how much he means to him and to make sure he's calm and comfortable and that Dean is staying right there with him. 

Dean keeps up the litany of assurances, not just for Sam, but for himself. He doesn't even know if Sam can hear him, but he knows they need this. 

John seems to appear out of nowhere and scoops Sam into his arms. The kid let's out a loud cry of pain at the movement and Dean's heart breaks some more and he finds himself calling to Sam, "baby, everything's okay." John doesn’t make a comment.

They get Sam to the hospital, the wounds are cleaned and stitched and the bleeding is stopped and they've got him hooked up for a transfusion. But then infection sets in and Sam doesn't wake up for three days. Dean doesn't stop talking. He doesn’t hold back. Not once. 

***

They learn Sam is accident prone. Two years later and there hasn't been anything as bad as the black dog incident, but he's been known to bruise or crack a rib, sprain a ligament, pull muscles, even just fall without any resulting injuries. It probably has to do  
with the fact that the kid is 80% limbs. 

After Sam woke up in the hospital that first time Dean had seen his brother so hurt and so sick, Dean had used "baby" and "honey" every so often, just until he was sure the kid was really going to be okay. Then he slipped back into what had become his normal. "Kiddo" "buddy" and the ever affectionate "geek". 

But then Sam had really fucked up his leg; another trek in the woods, another hunt where they were separated and the kid gets caught up in an animal trap. Dean had found him, conscious but in pain, babbling a stream of thank you's for Dean's presence.

"Oh god, Dean, thank god, please please it hurts so bad, please." Dean’s heart might be breaking a little.

Tears are leaking from his eyes and Dean almost loses it thinking how it's going to hurt his brother even more to get the trap off and then try to move him. 

Sure enough Sam screams and almost passes out as Dean pries the trap off with all his damn strength and the words slip out again. 

"I know, honey, I know, almost done."

But they're not almost done because Sam needs a hospital and Dean can't scoop him up and carry him (his baby brother is 18 and taller than he is and Dean can't carry him to safety and if you still don't think he still gets choked up over how much the kid is growing up, you're still wrong). Dean hefts his brother up to standing, or something like it, slings a long arm around his own neck and tries to support as much of Sam's weight as he can, but that ankle is really fucked and Sam's outright sobbing and telling  
Dean how much it hurts between every pant, so of course Dean is back to his words of comfort. 

"I know, babe, but the car's not far I promise. Keep going for me, I know you can."

He doesn't stop, he keeps it up even while Sam's seated in the passenger seat. Sam quiets down a bit once he gets in the car. He reaches a hand over and squeezes Dean’s knee like his life depends on it, and he’s still panting like he can’t catch his breath. But the only sounds he makes now are whimpers as the impala goes over bumps, to which Dean always responds, “I know, babe, I’m so sorry, almost there.”

The hospital is hell when they get there. First Sam decides he hasn’t been stubborn in about three hours, so he insists he doesn’t need the wheelchair Dean went inside to fetch. One attempt at walking, though, has his knees buckling as a soft cry escapes and Dean lowers him into the chair. Then, an accident takes precedence over them, so they wait for what seems like hours and Sam’s getting shocky and sleepy so Dean keeps nudging him. 

“No, hey, honey stay away for me, okay?”

“D’n…” Sam rolls his half open eyes over to his brother. “Tired… Cold…”

“Hey, yeah, I know, you can sleep all you want after the doctors fix you up, alright?”

“...’Kay.”

They have this conversation about six times until a nurse calls them back. 

And then they wait some more for a doctor. 

And some more for some x-rays.

And then some more for someone to stitch up the open skin that’s been slowly bleeding for too long.

They give Sam an IV of fluids during the waiting at least, and then pump him full of painkillers, declare that his ankle doesn’t need surgery and they set it and put a boot on it and send them home with more pain killers.

Sam is declared okay, definitely will live, will just be in pain, but Dean can’t get the edge off. They shouldn’t have had to wait so long. And they shouldn’t have even been separated. What if Sam had lost more blood? What if Dean had taken much longer to find Sam and infection had set in? What if the trap would have cost the kid his foot?

Dean is white-knuckle driving, intends to do so the whole way to the motel, when Sam reaches a long arm across the seat to rest his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey… Hey, Dee. Relax, okay?”

Dean was sure Sam would be too stoned to notice the tension thrumming through his body, so he’s a little caught off guard. “Hey, Sammy, I’m relaxed okay? Just sit tight, almost back.”

“No, no, no you’re not. Hey, c’mon relax,” Sam says, rubbing at Dean’s arm. “I’m okay, alright? I’m okay, baby.”

And that takes Dean aback. He’s called Sam those names for as long as he can remember (excluding the the breaks he’s had to take), but not once, not ever, has Sam said them to him. The most affectionate name he got from Sam was “Dee”. 

Dean must have made a face because Sam immediately starts apologizing.

“Sorry, sorry. Was that weird? It was weird, man, don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sammy. Slow down.”

“It just… slipped out. I just. I know I like it when you do it, it just… came out.”

“Wait, you do?”

A loopy smile spreads across Sam’s face. “Yeah,” he says, “makes me feel good. Butterflies, or worms or whatever. s’good.” 

It takes Dean a moment to find his voice after that. “What happened to all that, ‘I’m not a baby’ crap?”

That earns a small laugh from Sam. “You don’t do it a lot. So it’s okay. Sometimes.”

“Well, what if I start calling you bitch instead? Bitch.”

Sam does his best to look offended. “Jerk!” he yells from the passenger seat. It’s probably not the best idea to get his brother riled up when he’s high off pain meds in the middle of the night, but they’ve had a rough night, they deserve this.

“I promise. I’m fine, babe,” Sam says, smiling like a little shit.

“Whatever, bitch.”

Sam rolls his eyes over to Dean, a lazy grin on his face, eyes starting to droop. “Jerk.”


End file.
